


Got It Bad

by Cave_of_the_mounds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Mutual Pining, Pining, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 09:48:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10874256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds
Summary: Fic written for a challenge with the song prompt U Got it Bad by Usher, set sometime after S8Sam and the reader have a history, and the reader longs for him when he finds his way back into her life after years of being away. There's fluff, angst, smut, humor...and that heart-clenching longing for the one who got away.Also posted on Tumblr @butiaintgonnaloveem





	Got It Bad

The email sat in your inbox for a month before you noticed it; buried in the spam from mailing lists and unsolicited porn. Then, it sat there for another week before you could decide what to do with it - delete it, ignore it, reply. You had a decent enough reason for each option. Your stomach did flips every time you held the cursor over the email. You’d been ready to flip your life upside down and take the leap, but then he was gone, before you had a chance to be anything.

He’d been the one. Your person. Then he became just a story, your precautionary tale of letting love slip away. The one that was set up on a pedestal. The one that no one else could compare to. Other relationships came and went with fights and struggles that made you think time and time again, ‘This wouldn’t be an issue with Sam.’

Textbook woulda, coulda, shoulda. Like some bad rom-com.

Now, there he was, his words lingering in your inbox, and in your thoughts. You read it over and over again, just to make sure it wasn’t some robot, but it was him. It was Sam. Reaching out after three years of being gone. Three years after you watched him walk out the door, only to have him not return. Three years that you’d spent on your own, quietly living and occasionally researching cases. Not as active as you’d been while he was around, but comfortable. 

He was clearly trying to break the ice based on the subject of the email “I was thinking about that night at the karaoke bar.”

‘Keep it simple.’ You told yourself over and over.

“Hey Sam, Wow. I can’t believe you remember that. You know, it’s been a while since I disgraced myself on stage…”

He didn’t reply right away. And while you knew he wasn’t the type to play games, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d make you wait. Or if he regretted contacting you at all. It only took a week of mild torture and panic before he replied, full of teasing observation and intellectual musings. And though you were alone, you fought back a smile, trying to play it cool. This time you didn’t wait to reply - “Sam, Do you remember that time on State St…”

The back and forth continued with replies every few days. Old memories were quickly recalled, but neither of you lingered on those long, quickly falling into the present and picking things up like there hadn’t been a three-year gap in your lives. The emails only stopped once you signed off with- “My number hasn’t changed. If you find the time, call me.”

The sweat on your palms didn’t go away for days after. You knew if he didn’t want to talk that he’d let you down easy, yet you worried you’d pushed some invisible boundary. When the unknown number popped up on your caller ID, you jumped up as a rush of nervous energy burst through. 

“Hello?” Your voice wobbled as you answered, anticipation making you lose control of the simplest things.

“Hey,” his smooth voice responded. Simple and sure.

“Hi Sam,” you breathed out. You hopped up out of your seat and paced as your blood raced through your veins, making you break out in a nervous sweat. “What’s up?” You were nearly breathless as the adrenaline rushed through your system.

“Well, Dean and I are in a little town in…”

Two hours later, thoroughly high on Sam, you hung up. Your cheeks ached from the smile you’d been wearing for hours, and your skin tingled with nervous energy. The emails stopped, but the calls didn’t. Sometimes they lasted hours, sometimes a few moments; rarely were the calls missed, no matter what you were doing.

“Hi, Sam.”  
“Hey, Y/n, what are you up to?” He sounded exhausted.  
“Grocery shopping,” you sighed with fake disgust, making him chuckle.  
“Getting anything good?”  
“You want the details of my grocery trip?”  
“If it’ll keep you talking, then sure.”  
“You okay, Sam?”  
“I’m fine, now what’s for dinner?”

It felt silly to talk about something so mundane, but it seemed like he needed the distraction, and it made you feel like he was there. Like he’d jumped into domesticity with you, arguing over the best snacks and trying to talk you into making the Greek dish with all the cinnamon and oregano.

“If you were here, I’d make it for you.”  
He sighed, “Rain check then, huh?”  
“You got it.”

Your smile faded as soon as he’d hung up. The loss of his voice made you feel lonelier than ever.  
__________________________________________________________________________________

“What are you up to?”  
You always tried to play it off as nothing, willing to push whatever you were doing to the side to give Sam your full attention since you never knew how long you had, but he always pushed you to tell him the truth.  
“Reading.”  
“Reading what?”  
“It’s a book about Ernest Shackleton and his crew and how they survived in the Antarctic.”  
“Sounds interesting, you should keep reading.”  
“No, Sam, I want to talk to you -”  
“No, no, keep reading. Read it to me.”  
“Seriously?”  
“Yes,” he replied, firmly.

You paused, waiting for him to laugh and tell you he was kidding, but he didn’t. Instead, heard the sounds of a chair shifting along the floor and a huff from Sam as he sat. You took a sip of water and found your place then started. At first, nervously stumbling over your words, but a few pages in, you felt confident. Sam would interrupt from time to time to make a comment or ask you to clarify something, but other than that he sat quietly, listening to you narrate the story, chuckling when you changed voices for the different characters mentioned or tripped over your words when you read out an exciting scene.

“I miss watching you read,” he blurted out while you were mid-paragraph. You held your breath, and words caught in your throat as you scrambled to come up with a reply. Your memories did nothing to help as you thought of the two of you sitting at opposite ends of a sofa, feet criss-crossed over each other in the middle beneath a blanket, reading quietly together. You let out a sad sigh, found your place on the page and started to read aloud again.  
______________________________________________________________________________________

Months passed that way. You lived your life as normally as possible with the ghost of Sam sharing every moment with you. More than once, you’d fallen asleep with him on the line after talking late into the night. Other times he talked in a rush, using you as a talking board for his theories as he sifted through research while on a case.

You heart ached for him again and didn’t want to let it go this time - didn’t want to just keep dreaming about your lost love, but fear kept you from doing anything about it. No matter how sweet he sounded when he told you, “I want you to know, I really adore you.” Sam could never be yours, so in the meantime, you dated. Nothing serious, but you did what you could to try to remember you couldn’t just be attached to a voice over the phone. It was a useless exercise because at the end of any date, you always found yourself thinking of only Sam.

Those nights when you really felt like torturing yourself, you thought of one of the last nights you’d spent with him. You were out at some half-assed country bar, blowing off some steam after Sam and Dean finished their hunt. The crowd a strange mix of college kids and 40-somethings all enjoying the cheap liquor. Weeks of coy smiles, soft touches, and hours of conversation interrupted on occasion by shy, quick kisses had been building up something between you. That night, you were both braver, bolder. 

You leaned into him at the long bar table, looking up into his eyes as you weaved your fingers together with his. You teasingly wiggled against him in time with the blaring music that limited conversation. Then he gave you that look. His eyes narrowed and tilted down at you, his lips pulled tight in a not-quite smirk, his back and shoulders were drawn straight at attention. It was hunger, and adoration; intense and raw and sent tingles rushing down your spine.The thought of it still made your heartbeat race and an ache throb between your thighs.

Bar time came and went, and the three of you retreated to the hotel they’d been occupying. Dean passed out on the old motel mattress, so you and Sam found yourselves spooning on the couch with some random late-night rerun playing softly on the tv. His arm rested over your rib cage as you traced the knuckles and veins on the back of his hand. Both of you breathed heavily, anticipation rushing through your nervous system like fire, but you tried to cover it up with tense muscles.

When his lips grazed the back of your shoulder, there was no stopping the whimper that escaped you. He tilted his head and placed firm, hot kisses under your hairline, across your shoulder, over every piece of bare skin accessible.

The blanket covering the two of you had bunched up, so you tugged out of your way, allowing you to push your back completely against his front, leaving your clothes as the only barrier between the two of you. He pulled you even closer, his forearm pressed against your ribs as he curled his body along yours. His mouth made its way along your neck, leaving trails of wet kisses and stinging nips from his teeth.

You arched your back against him and slid your arms out to let your hands roam. The one under you slid up to grasp his hair and rake along his scalp. The other found his hand, winding his fingers with yours and encouraged them to slide beneath your shirt. You kept your hand over his, and he let you guide him, tugging at your bra and massaging your breasts. 

Long gone were the quiet, controlled breaths. You both sighed and hummed, hissed and whimpered. The blanket and your clothes rustled as you began to grind and tease each other. With your back still curved, you tilted your hips, rubbing your ass against his crotch and feeling the solid bulge pushing against his zipper.

You twisted your head around and he lifted his, kissing you at the awkward sideways angle, but not letting you roll over. His hand slipped out from beneath yours, leaving you to play with and pinch at your nipple as your hips rolled against him in a steady rhythm. He gripped your chin, holding you there as he kissed you until you were both gasping for air and your neck muscles burned from the strain. After he caught his breath, he tucked his head against yours, his arm wrapped around you again as he groaned your name in a deep rumble, making you moan softly in return.

With his hand spread wide, he slid it down your torso, over your belly, to the top of your jeans. He paused there until you placed your hand over his wrist, giving him a small push to move lower. He took the cue, his fingers popped the button of your jeans open.

His hot, rough palm dragged against your skin beneath your jeans and underwear until his fingertips lightly skimmed at your wetness. You ground your teeth as you whined and breathed deeply through your nose to try to keep the noise down. With your pants open, but not pulled down, Sam had just enough room to push his hand in and bend at the wrist, allowing only his fingers to slide against you and tease along your aching entrance.

“Saamm,” you breathed out, your breath shook and body twitched, moments away from losing control and riding his hand until you found relief.

He grunted in response, a sort of agreeable sound as he started to really push himself against you. Your hips, sandwiched between his crotch and his hand moved smoothly with him, letting his palm press hard against you while his fingers dipped and teased.

The need to feel him grew too overwhelming. So, you slid your hand off of his wrist, tickling his forearm as you went, then reached between the two of you until you could feel the front of his jeans. His hand pressed hard against your pussy when you grabbed him through the material. Both of you froze for a moment, your bodies going stiff, not even breathing as you tried to keep yourselves under control. When you finally let out a breath, Sam shifted, pulling his hips back slightly to allow your hand to move. You struggled for a moment to unbuckle his belt with only one hand behind your back, and he took advantage of your distracted attention to nibble at your ear. The feel of his hot breath and lips on your sensitive skin sent your whole body into a squirming mess. He just huffed out a laugh as his fingers continued to swirl against your clit.

Forgetting the idea of being cute or gentle, your fingers tugged and wriggled his belt undone before easily opening the button and zipper of his jeans. Impatience continued to control you as you shoved your hand right past the elastic of his boxers, palm open as you blindly reached out for the thick erection that he’d been rutting against you. You quickly found it, sliding your palm down until you reached the base, feeling the hair and skimming your fingers at his sac. His hips stuttered at the light touch, and when you let your fingers slide back up to grip at his shaft, Sam dropped his forehead to your shoulder, curling his body into your touch and letting out harsh breaths.

“Okay?” you muttered, so low that you weren’t sure he heard you until he moved his head back up to rest just behind yours.

“Fuck. Yes,” he whispered back to you. You started to stroke him lightly, your hand wrapped around him and just skimming along his skin as you moved it up and down as much as you could while still inside his boxers. Feeling the size of him, your mind went wild creating the image of what he’d look like once you finally could face him. When he curled his fingers to push them into you, your grip tightened around him, pulled a groan through his gritted teeth as he pressed himself into your touch.

From that point it became a synchronised movement of hips and hands. He’d push his hips up as you stroked your hand down along his shaft, then pull back enough to let you slide your hand back up. You took a second to swipe your palm over his head to collect the precome, then glide back down. As your hand worked him, he did the same, pressing into you as you rolled your hips against him, letting his fingers thrust shallowly in and out of you, working you up to a frenzy. Your hands criss-crossed over each other’s bodies, wrists cramped at the angles and intensity, but neither of you stopped. It didn’t matter that you were both clothed, or that Dean was annoyingly passed out on the only bed available at the time. It was just you and Sam and the need to feel one another.

You pressed your head back against him, eyes clenched tight as your breaths came out in hushed sobs. He panted against you, the arm that was beneath your head and neck clutched you against him as he let out broken grunts against your neck.

“God, Y/n, Ineedyou,” he rushed out.

In your mind you wailed ‘Ohmygod, yes, Sam, yes’ but when you shifted your leg, you nearly slipped off the narrow couch, if it hadn’t been for Sam’s grip on you, you’d have landed on the floor. You glared into the darkness at Dean in frustration, cursing him for choosing tonight to not get lost with someone from the bar. You swallowed away the dryness in your throat, pushing away the lust for a moment to grasp the situation.

“Sam,” you twisted your head to talk to him, “Mmm, guh-od I want you, too.” He nuzzled against you, rubbing his three-day scruff over your neck and jaw, making your chest heave as you stopped your moan in your throat. “But,” you swallowed, wetting your dry tongue, “But not like this.”

His fingers stopped their movements, and his hips slowed to a gentle rock. His breaths got shorter and controlled. “What do you mean? You want to stop?” he whispered, words tight with caution.

You couldn’t stop the cringe on your face, and though he couldn’t really see you in the dark, you burned with embarrassment. Your pause making him loosen his grip as he started to push himself into the cushions behind him.

‘Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.’

“Oh, god, Sam. No. I want this-you. I don’t want to stop, but it’s just,” you shifted a little on your back so that you didn’t have to crane your neck so much to face him. “I just meant, I don’t want our first time together to be on a shitty little couch while your brother is passed out 15 feet away. I kind of imagined this happening on a bed at least.”

“Yeah,” he puffed out as he slid his hand out from between your thighs, smearing your wetness as he dragged it back up your stomach, then wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. The manic need quickly drained away as the mood became broken. You could feel the thickness in your throat and the tingling at the corners of your eyes. You slowly slid your hand out of the front of his pants, deciding against trying to give a half-hearted hand-job while fighting back tears. You tried not to, but eventually couldn’t stop yourself from sniffling.

Sam shifted again, pulling his hips away, but cradling your chest close still. “Hey,” he kissed your temple, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you squeaked out, pulse pounding against your temples.

“No. No, no,” he kissed your cheek. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re right. We can do this better.”

After a few moments, you got up to go to the bathroom to clean up. When you came back, Sam was dressed again, but had scooted into the couch as much as possible, making room for you to lie with him on the worn cushions. You burrowed into him, tangling your legs with his and letting him pull the covers up to your shoulders.

“Sorry,” you asked, voice rough emotion, “You sure this is okay?”

“Nothing to be sorry about. This is more than okay.”

“Sam, you’re so amazing. Thank you,” you whispered against his chest.

“I’d say the same about you. I’m fortunate to have you.”  
____________________________________________________________________________

You still winced when you thought of how embarrassing that night was. At how the regret settled deep within you and still tugged at your gut from time to time. At how you should have gone with him. How you should have told him how you felt. How he made your world better; he made you better.

The two days after that night consisted of clean-up, mending wounds, tuning up the Impala. Somehow, you and Sam couldn’t find time to spare to be alone, and then - he was gone. He and Dean walked out the door of the restaurant after telling you about some quick case they had to take care of nearby, and that was that.

At least, until he sent that email. 

With him back in your life, the regret and the want and the longing felt crippling. Everything was pulled back to the surface with every giddy conversation you had with him; every time you sat with dreamy eyes while you listened to him read to you, or describe in painful detail the motel room he was staying at or the scenery as Dean flew through it. The life you had wasn’t the life you wanted, and it was all you could think about.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“What is this?”

“What’s what? Did you send me a picture of something? I didn’t ge-”

“No, Sam. What is this? Us?”

“Oh,” he replied, before staticy silence fill the line. After a moment of listening to the blood pound in your ears as your cheeks burned with nervous shame, you jumped in.

“Sorry. Nevermind. Okay, let’s not make this weird. We’re friends, right? Sam, I am so glad you’re my friend, just...just want you to know that.”

He cleared his throat before responding hoarsely, “Yeah. Yeah, same here.”

“Good. Alright, well, I’ve gotta take care of some stuff, so I’ll just talk to you later.”

You didn’t even give him time to reply as you swiftly ended the call, mortified that you’d just jeopardized things with him again. All the other things you had planned for the day got put off as you chose to instead stay in and watch mindless shows on Netflix and eat junk food. Apparently doomed to always mess things up with Sam.  
___________________________________________________________________________________

You ignored the knocking at your door, wishing that the person on the other side would give up and assume you weren’t there, but they didn’t seem to get the clue.

“Wrong apartment, asshole,” you grumbled as you got closer, sliding open the locks to glare at the person outside.

“Hey,” you were met with wide, hazel eyes. His forehead and eyebrows were crinkled in that adorable way they get when he was nervous or worried. His hands rested on his hips, looking like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. You took all of him in, trying to make sense of the fact that the asshole you were about to tell off, was the person you’d been sick over for most of the day.

“Hey,” you answered timidly, swiping at your face to wipe away any evidence of food or tears, then quickly reached down to tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling away the wrinkles and wishing that you’d been able to pick a better time to have Sam standing in front of you - like maybe when your clothes matched or you’d recently had a chance to brush your hair.

“This a bad time?”

“Oh,” you snapped back to attention, trying to turn your expression into something more welcoming, “Sorry, come in.” You took your time after he entered, using the spare moment to stare at the door in panic, your stomach flipped as you turned around. 

“Why are you here?” you blurted, watching in horror as his eyes widened. “Sorry. Rude. I didn’t mean that like...that. Uhm, what’s up?” You shook your head in disbelief at yourself and the forced casualness in your tone.

He stared at you with an amused grin, seemingly enjoying watching you flustered. “We were close, and I just thought it would be good to see you.”

You glared, “Close? I thought you and Dean were a state away.”

“Well, close is a loose description.”

“Right. Well, welcome, I guess?”

“Thanks,” he pinched his lip between his teeth. “You look good.”

Your ears burned with the attention as you remembered you were still wearing your messy, couch-dwelling clothes.

“Shut up,” you brushed him off, “Thirsty?”

You decided his answer was yes and took off toward the kitchen, desperate for a moment to gather your wits.

“Nice place,” he called from the living room, “Homey.”

“It’s just a place, but it’s something. It works, ya know?” You walked back into the room.

“Yeah,” he paused to sip, “Dean and I kind of have a place now.”

“Really? Since when?”

“A little while.”

As the conversation flowed, you drifted from standing awkwardly in the middle of the room to resting at opposite ends of the sofa, the drinks long since empty.

“Wow, Sam, I had no idea.”

“Yeah, it’s been an intense few years.”

“Mmhmm,” you agreed, letting the conversation slip away, having already gone through all the surface-scratching topics you could think of to pass the time.

“So, where are you and Dean staying?”

He ran a hand through his hair, “Oh, umm, I don’t know. Dean kinda dropped me off.”

You nodded as you nibbled at your cheek. “You can stay here if you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Sam. What are friends for, right?”

“Right,” he smiled tightly.

You gathered your spare pillows and blanket for the couch, watching as he tried to lounge comfortably across it. He gave you that fake ‘I’m fine’ smile of his, making you bite your tongue to draw away your nerves.

“Sam, you can sleep in the bed. It’s okay.”

“No, no, I’m not gonna steal your bed away from you-”

“No, I mean, I don’t mind,” you blinked long to stop the words from shaking, “We can share.”

He asked if you were sure at least five more times as followed you into your room and got comfortable under the blanket. You did your best to assure him as you created space between you on the bed. You were buzzing with awareness. All made worse by the fact that you knew exactly how it felt to sleep cuddled against him. So, you tossed and turned, unable to find a position that was comfortable without crossing into the “neutral territory.” 

You heard Sam shift from time to time and when his calf nudged against yours, you held still, not wanting to part from even the smallest connection. With him facing your direction, you could hear him breathing and imagined having your ear pressed to his chest to listen to the steady beat of his heart. You tried to keep your breaths even and soft, pretending to sleep, but your racing heart made you pull in air quickly.

Without a word, Sam’s arm reached over you, surprising you as he wrapped it around you and pulled you to him. You didn’t bother to fight it, rolling into him and spreading your hands against his chest as he held you against himself.

“Y/n?” he whispered into the darkness.

“Yes, Sam?”

“I don’t know how to answer your question.”

You felt yourself getting choked up as he finally pointed out the elephant in the room. You’d been berating yourself over it since you’d asked him. Bright neon letters flashed in your mind to remind you of how stupid it sounded - What is this? You shook your head, trying to brush it off.

“That’s fine.”

“What do you want?” He asked a moment later.

You felt your chest jump with every pound of your heart. While wishing there was something else to distract you, you were also grateful for the darkness of the room so that you wouldn’t have to look into his eyes as you confessed.

“I, “you stalled, “I just want you in my life. And I just kinda thought for a while about us being together. Like, if I ever had another chance, that I’d take it.” You could feel your thoughts stretching, the danger of rambling approaching rapidly so you shut it all down. “But, it’s okay. Like I said, I just want you in my life. You’re pretty much my best friend.”

Your words curled up at the end, as if you were asking to still be friends. If you could have squirmed away, you would have, but his arms held tight around you. His thumbs stroked back and forth over your tense muscles. His voice sounded unsure when he spoke up again.

“You know I have no money, and almost live out of a car.”

“Not that it matters, but yeah, I know,” You sighed in relief that he’d let you down easily.

“I don’t think I can be friends with you,” he muttered. 

The few seconds of relief had shattered. You tucked your chin to your chest to pull away from him as tears rushed from the corners of your eyes.

“T-that’s ok. I’m sorry, Sam,” you sniffled, unable to hide the sadness quickly consuming you.

“No, nonono, stop. Please?” he asked. His voice shifted as he tilted his head to yours. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.” He squeezed you tighter, pushing a sob from your lips. “I’m sorry. Look. I don’t know what we are, but I can’t just be friends with you. I just can’t forget - I don’t want to forget what we had and that it wasn’t something. Isn’t something.”

He paused, taking in unsteady breaths as you continued to sniffle into the sheets. You couldn’t open your mouth to say anything to him. Your fingers curled as you started to ball up his shirt in your fists. Doing whatever you could to keep your crying from becoming wailing. 

“Hey, hey, listen to me, please? I know I am doing this all wrong, but please, please just listen,” he begged, his hands rubbing soothingly against your back. You nodded to let him know you were paying attention, internally begging for it to be over so that you could run away and hide and never have to look at him again. “What we had...that’s...I’ve thought about you more times than I can count and wished twice as many times that I could have changed things and had you with me.”

“What?” you whispered, voice thin from fear and hope. You tilted your ear closer to him to make certain you heard every word.

“My life feels off-track without you. You don't know what you do to me, and how much I wish things could be different.”

Tears continued to fall, your face was a mess, blotchy and wet, but you lifted your head up to peer at him in the dark, anxious to see him as much as you could.

“If they could be different,” you swallowed, searching for his eyes in the shadowy room “Then what?”

He inhaled deeply, his hands slid up your back, surprisingly nimble in the blackness of the room, until they reached your cheeks, swiping away at the wetness there.

“Then? I'd tell you that I want us to be an us. That I adore you and-”

You cut him off by pushing your lips up to his. It was short, but sweet. You pulled away, finally unclenching your fists from his shirt and smoothing down the warm wrinkles. Your body trembled, but your voice was soft and clear.

“Sam, don't you dare think I'm letting you walk away again. Not without me. I'm your girl. I promise you, I'm going to love you the best that I can.”


End file.
